Irish Examiner 24/04/2023 - Minor Roles

“Whatever happened to them anyway?”

We all have those in our lives don’t we?  The ‘lost touch people’. At some point they were crucial in your life. They are like an old bank account which has a few memories instead of a balance of minus 14cent. And a lot more interest.

I was watching the BBC2 show Reunion Hotel this week. It brings people together who once had a huge impact on one another. I enjoyed it. But also I’d love a much lower stakes TV show where you reconnect with people in your life who played a completely insignificant part but for some reason you still remember them  and you’re absolutely DYING to know what happened next. There’s no redemption arc. No closure. It won’t make you a better person. You just want to reconnect out of pure unalloyed nosiness.

Without much effort I can think of a few people who had walk on roles. .  

What happened the fella who was my best friend for a week in Senior Infants. At that time, it was significant because that would have made up 5% of my school life so far. They moved away. But where? And the older brother? Wasn’t he wild? Probably on big money out in Canada. That’s always the way with primary school. You find out the lad who was a ‘bitteen wild’ now owns half of Tashkent.

What happened the sixth year in Deerpark who rescued me from being trapped behind the wall of grounds next door when I had to retrieve the tennis ball I’d kicked over during tennis soccer in the yard. I was two weeks in first year and still practically a zygote.  (For the sliver-spoon-mouthed, tennis soccer is just soccer with a tennis ball played in on all-weather pitches called ‘yards’.)

What happened to the fella whose father threw eggs at a gable wall of a neighbours house at some stage in 1986 and the stain was there for at least a year because no one had a ladder high enough?

What happened to the fella who was the first person I ever knew to get Nike Air. They were seventy pounds! I didn’t know shoes could cost that much as my toes scratched the insides of my confirmation brogues. It was like the time Bill Clinton got that 200 dollar haircut in the plane.

What happened to the fierce funny fella who was ripped the roof off the club the first time I did ever did standup comedy and was brilliant and I never saw on an Irish stage again. He should be here writing this column instead of me.

There are people who were at my wedding I haven’t spoken to in years. And I should have. They gave a good present.

I haven’t really thought through how a TV series based on pure noseyness would go. If they agreed to participate what would you even say to the person? “Eh I know this is weird but you lent me a picture book about pirates and I never gave it back.”  

But,  inconsequential though they are, we are all probably someone’s abandoned memory bank account. We could fill in the gaps for them though probably never will.

That’s why I have a proposal for funerals. Instead of using up your ‘shake-hands’ time with sorry for your troubles, head straight in with your name, connection to the deceased and what you think is the most boring anecdote possible.

“I remember your father bought Jersey Creams and a pint of milk and two parking discs off me once.”

“Your mother hated onions.”

“Your brother was a fierce man for Shoot Annuals and I still have one he lent me with Sam Allardyce on the cover.”

Make the wakes a reunion to remember.